


Breaking in No Colour

by Corvidae_Corvus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gun Wounds, Knives, M/M, Psychosis, Quitting, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 07:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvidae_Corvus/pseuds/Corvidae_Corvus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian says he's quitting, then sends Jim on a two month game of hide and seek. A little peek into Jim's head, before and after he finds Sebastian...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking in No Colour

**Author's Note:**

> Co-author: benedictscumberbitches (Tumblr)  
> This is the song that goes with this fiction. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kj3CHx3TDzw Please note it is not required, but it adds to the effect if played when mentioned.

> You’re mad as a box of cats, boss. - SM

Jim was sitting in his office, the space in its usual disarray, an organized mess. This office wasn’t for meetings or seeing clients, it was for thinking, and thinking only. Thinking was what he was doing right now, though he wasn’t pleased about it. He had a running commentary about that unfortunate situation in front of him, in a way, pacing back and forth. It’s how his mind worked; so many things going on at once.

‘He’s quitting, QUITTING ME! He thinks he can play his games, get away.’

Moriarty murmured to himself as he texted back, thoughts in yellow. ‘Games, dangerous games, like ring around the rosy…’

> You’re just now figuring that out? - JM

He had no idea how it might have looked like to normal people. Maybe it was just Jim sitting there, glancing to his map occasionally, fingers typing at his laptop sometimes, thumbs dialing numbers. He didn’t care what it looked like to others, to himself, it was a little like having all of his emotions and desires talking at once. Talking in colors.

‘Last confirmed location was Liverpool, confirmed kill, twenty three hours since that time, various modes of transportation,’ he started tracing his finger around the map on his wall, highlighting areas in blue.

“What would he do,” Jim murmured to himself, eyes shifting from the map to a small spec of purple in the patterned carpet. ‘No family he would go to, military, military pals maybe, no, something. Self reliant, comfortable with discomfort.’

‘Comfortable with discomfort, I like that one; yellow fish, red fish, blue fish, yellow yellow yellow and blue, green. Green eggs and ham, sure Sebby would like green eggs and ham, try anything once, he likes discomfort.’

‘He’d have enough time to get to the mainland EU, considering boat or flight times,’ he highlighted in blue again.

> …Did you hop countries, Seb dear? - JM

> Is that your ‘head start’? - JM

> That would be telling, Jimmy boy. - SM

‘Oh, he’s so cute FUCKING CUTE!’ Jim pressed his finger nails against his palm briefly, watching the blood raise to the surface of his skin.

> Oh, you’re cute. So. Cute. - JM

‘Jimmy boy, Jimjimjim, Jack, Union Jack, Jacky Jack, not Jack.’

‘Could he be going to America?’ The continent tentatively highlighted in blue. ‘Maybe…’

> S’what ya always liked about me. - SM

The yellow light backlit the keyboard as Jim typed. Round and round we go, cat and mouse-

> And now you’re gone. And you’re hiding. And soon they’ll find you. And then I’ll play with you. And then you’ll die. - JM

‘Pity,’ a single word off in the corner of his office; he probably said it out loud.

> Such a pity, really. - JM

> Ya thinkin too highly of yourself, boss. - SM

> I ain’t scared of you. - SM

James himself let out a sigh, shifting a little, glancing to the red disconnect button. ‘Iiiii want a new pair of slacks, leather slacks, Sebastian is so taaall, he could work. Have to tan, tan the poor leather, too much sun, sun tan, farmer’s tan. Skin him, run a knife under his skiiin because I want his skin, skin the tiger.’

> I know you’re not. Which is why I’ll enjoy~ This. - JM

> Ya ain’t gonna find me. - JM

Jim hand looked to a purple post it on his desk on top of a file.

‘Let’s not waste time, we have so many people, connections everywhere, I love connections. Like string, pulling string. Grab airline records, ship records, he is going out of the country.’

‘Ireland, France, America, Belgium, Portugal’ More countries highlighted in blue.

‘So many things to do, still talking when there’s calling to do~’

> Keep saying that. It might come true. - JM

‘If you wish~ upon a star~!’

> Orrrr not. - JM

‘Sorry,’ another softly mumbled word. No color is no fun, what do you think?

> Tell ya what— you find me, I’ll go without a fight. Let ya play your little game. - SM

No more~ yellowyellow, cautioncaution, green! Green is go. Let’s do this, skin our cute tiger. Have leather slacks, pants, pants, America, slacks, trousers.

—-

Jim paced back and forth in a warehouse, his turns sharp with a grinding sound from his black shoes as they twisted against cement. It was a very empty warehouse, likely because it was not for shipments. Well, not normal shipments. Jim wa waitng for a package. Eagerly. Chomping at the bit. _Dying_ for his package really. And if it was a moment late, there would be two men skinned today.

Like he promised, Sebastian showed up without a fight. He'd been a little disappointed to be cornered by two of Jim's lap dogs- but impressed nonetheless. Two months. It hadn't taken him nearly as long as Sebastian had thought (or, really, had hoped). There were no theatrics, no binding his arms, no bag over his head. Just a gun to his gut and a gesture toward an unmarked car. And so he went. When he stepped into the warehouse, he couldn't help but tug at the corner of his lips, smiling with half of his mouth. "Gee, boss," he said, mocking, "Two whole months. Ya gettin' slow on me."

Jim had his back to the door when Sebastian came in, and he froze when he started mocking him. Sebastian. Was mocking. Him. His hand flew to the inside of his jacket, hand closing over a pistol he had there and turning just as quick as he'd been pacing. He fired a shot right at Sebastian's thigh, then stalked over to him, rage clear on his face, "SAY IT AGAIN! SAY! IT! AGAIN!" Jim got right up to Seb, took a fistful of his hair with his free hand and yanked his head back.

"Jesus- christ- _fuck_ -" Because he hadn't been expecting _that_. Something in Sebastian had thought himself immune to Jim- had been for so long that he took the liberty of returning to how it had been before- forgot he made the other man chase him across countries to find him. Blood and pain bloomed like a flower from his thigh and there was no way to stumble to the ground with dignity. he bared his teeth at Jim when his head was yanked back. "Ya gettin'-slow-" He hissed.

Jim let out an almost animalistic snarl as he brought the gun across Sebastian's face with a heavy snap of his arm before turning quickly and stalking back to closer to the middle of the warehouse, gesturing with his gun. "Bring him in," he practically screamed back to the men who had brought Sebastian here. Jim hadn't even made it to the middle, the men picking Sebastian up at the shoulders and practically dragging him, before Jim turned around and started moving back to Sebastian, his voice modulating between that psychotic sing song voice and yelling, "Yoooou seem to think I wouldn't fucking KILL YOU!" he pointed the gun at the men who stopped, "DID I SAY STOP!?" The quickly started dragging Sebastian over again.

Sebasitan spat blood out onto the floor with a manic grin as he was hoisted and dragged. His thigh screamed and his head was _pounding_. And God, did he deserve it. As promised, he didn't put up a fight as he was hoisted across the warehouse. There wasn't much bite as there was bark, regardless. The second most dangerous man in London, indeed- if he was behind a gun. And he was nothing when put up against Jim. This man- dismantled him. Destroyed him. "You ain't gon' kill me," he manages to spit out- stupid and presumptuous, but with an air of lofty confidence. A feat for a man bleeding out of both ends. "Wiv in an inch of my life- yeah, maybe." He spits again, laughing and panting and, then, groaning as the pain blossomed anew."Do it, Jim. Fuckin' kill me."

Jim didn't hesitate to, with Sebastian at least in the area he wanted him in, cock the gun and shoot Sebastian again, this time in the right shoulder. The two men scattered for a moment, but didn't dare stop listening to orders, not with Jim apparently so trigger happy. "Cuff him, hang him on that," Jim ordered, voice very flat again, but it was one of those flat tones that said this was just another modulation in his voice. He gestured to a hook that was usually used to move large platforms of crates around. It was low enough to reach, but high enough to either make Sebastian stretch or hang from it.

Sebastian let out a litany of curses and arches and twisted- into and away from the pain, and then he was being dragged and cuffed up. And _fuck_ , did it hurt. The long line of his body allowed for his feet to keep to the ground, but it wasn't comfortable- not with two bullets in his body and his head pounding already from the pain. Fuck. And he thought he was better than this. He hated how his breath came ragged and his eyes took longer to open back up after he blinked. _Tha' ain't killin' me, boss_ , he doesn't say, but the look he levels Jim says it all. "Good shot," he says instead, around the pain making his throat thick and his mouth dry.

Jim moved the gun from his left hand to his right, removing the knife from his jacket instead. His face twisted into rage again as he brought the knife to Sebastian's chest, pressing the tip in. He wanted to skin Sebastian, he would skin him. Before he killed him, he would make an example of him. You do not simply _quit_ working for Moriarty. No one did, not even Sebastian Moran. "Whyyy, Sebastian. You don't think I would kill you. What makes you so _special_ ," Jim practically hissed as he dragged it down the middle of Sebastian's chest, leaving a wound that started to gape the longer he made it, but didn't quite pierce anything beyond just the skin.

Breathe deep through the pain- breathe _breath_ \- and it's becoming harder. Flesh wound. His eyes levels on Jim's- mad man, insane man- best thing to happen to his life. And that was stupid considering where he was. "I ain't shit," he says, drawing his tongue across his teeth. Breathes out, slow, arching away from the knife. "I figure you ain't killin' me 'cause I walked away." he can't stop the words, but he's a dead man, anyway- and God, is he asking for it. "Nah. Nah, you don't get yer hands dirty for traitors. Nah, that's my job, yeah? If I ain't special, you ain't killin' me. But here you are- cuttin' me open. 'Cause I am, ain't I? Special?" He spits the word like acid off his tongue and twists his expression inso a glower. "Prove I ain't, then. Prove it."

Jim got the blank, dangerous expression on his face again, his mind racing far faster and in far more directions than normal. He slowly tipped his head to the side, then to the other, eyes glued onto Sebastian's. Then, he came very close, so very close, and he leaned in to speak softly against Sebastian's ear. "Let's say. Let's say you are. Special. Let's just say. Why _wouldn't_ I kill you? Why. You would stand up to me. I _refuuuuse_ to lose Sebastian. I will not No matter who I would have to kill. No matter _who_ would die." He brought the gun up, still in his right hand, pressing it over Sebastian's heart. he spoke softly, very softly, "I would kill you. You would be special and I would kill you."

Oh, this he loved. Getting on in Jim's head. Mucking things up for him. being the only man alive who gets _this close_ to Jim Moriarty. It's a thrill, a dangerous one, but a thrill nonetheless. And what Sebastian Moran wouldn't do for a fucking _thrill_. "I ain't sayin' you shouldn't," he murmured. He turned his head- pressed their temples together and shut his eyes tight. Jim's flesh is warmed than his own and at this point he wonders if it isn't because he's bleeding out of two bullet wounds and a fresh scar down his chest. He arches into the barrel of the gun. "You win, boss," he pants. "Ya always do."

There was a moment where, as their temples touched, Jim's eyes closed and a small sigh escaped him. He tipped his head ever so slightly against Sebastian's, and yes. Sebastian was special. So special. And there was one thing in his head that screamed to be done, the only solution to all of this. One thing. He opened his eyes, looking directly to Sebastian's. He wasn't screaming anymore, and his voice was very soft and very still. He nodded a little, "Yes. Yes, you are special Sebastian." His eyes flicked away from Sebastian's to the gun at his chest, and then back. "Yes. I always win." He pulled the trigger.

\---

The gun shot reverberated around the warehouse, the body in front of him jerking, then falling immediately limp. Jim’s ears were ringing from the loud sound, and he wasn’t entirely sure when the real ringing would stop, because he’s heard ringing like this before. Sometimes.

The arm with the hand that held the knife was around the limp body of Sebastian. He was getting blood all over his Westwood, but he didn’t appear to mind. His face was blank, in that way only James Moriarty could pull off. His head was gently tipping side to side, as if trying to decide.

He wasn’t supporting Sebastian at all, the hook and handcuffs were holding him up nicely, even though it held all of the dead weight. The extension of his arms and shoulders made Sebastian’s head almost even with his; such a position would have been painful if he were alive. His right hand, still holding the gun, pushed through the sniper’s hair. It was a very brief thing.

Then, Jim stepped away and turned, heading for the front door. His men started to move, to take down Sebastian, dispose of the body, and James must have caught it from the corner of his eye. The gun in his hand shot back up, leveled at the closest man, screaming in a sudden rage, “DID I SAY YOU COULD TOUCH HIM?”

Both of them stopped dead, not daring to move as Jim seethed and glared from twenty feet away. His dark eyes went from them to Sebastian’s body, then back. He waited a few, long seconds, no one did anything. Then he lowered his gun, his voice even if commanding again. “Take him down, dispose of him.”

Then, he turned, walking away at a calm but brisk pace, going around one of the few large crates in the warehouse.

 

-Frédéric François Chopin, Nocturne in E Flat Major, Op. 9 No. 2-

James walked back around one of the few large crates in the warehouse, walking calmly and steadily forward. He stopped back in front of Sebastian as he hung there, blood dripping down the slash at his chest, the three bullet holes in him. His face was still blank, but maybe not in the way he’s infamous for.

Slowly, he tipped his head to the side and brought up a hand, sliding it under where his hair hung in front of his face, cupping his cheek. “You are so very special,” Jim murmured softly, his palm already smeared with blood as his thumb ran along his cheekbone.

He stepped closer, lips very gently brushing along his hair, feeling the strands play against sensitive skin. “So special,” he murmured against the hair, feeling a strand or two between his lips, tasting a bit of blood. His other hand came up and slid into the hair itself, palm resting on the back of Sebastian’s neck.

“You are special,” he said softly as he closed his eyes, nose rubbing against his hair, taking a deep breath and smelling him. He brought up both hands, taking a wrist in each and carefully unhooking the cuffs from the hook. Even now, he struggled a little with Sebastian’s weight and mostly his height, clumsily sliding his left arm under Sebastian’s arms, his right grabbing the other man’s right bicep.

He quickly sunk to the ground, already starting to feel the blood soak into his Westwood trousers. Still, his expression was blank, but his face was soft as he rearranged his arms, one leg sticking out to the side, Sebastian’s body slumped mostly against his own chest and torso.

One hand went to Sebastian’s hair again, running his fingers slowly through it, his opposite hand at his shoulder to keep him close. “You are so very special,” Jim murmured again. His eyes were fixed downwards on Sebastian’s face, his hair being brushed back by his fingers.”To me.”

The words came like an almost forgotten, nonchalant add on as he tipped Sebastian’s face up, brushing back his hair, palm on his cheek. “You are so very special to me,” he murmured one more time before he bent his head down and kissed Sebastian’s cold lips, coming away with blood on them.

Jim woke silently, gently, with just a little raise of his head. He was at his desk, arms on top, his head was resting in them. Chopin was still playing; he couldn’t have been asleep more than a minute. He lifted his head slowly, taking a deep breath, his expression blank and his forehead just a little sweaty from where it was resting on his arm. He couldn’t work any more. All of the little colors, his emotions, thoughts, everything was silent. He couldn’t work like that.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

There was a very soft noise coming from… somewhere. A soft muffled bumping, only three of them before it stopped. Jim didn’t look around, just stared at the floor for a little bit.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Jim didn’t care how it looked to an outsider. He just looked to a corner, paused, and then stood up. Of course he didn’t have multiple personalities, he didn’t come away with that psychosis. He thought in color. Every emotion and desire wanting attention at once.

Off in the corner was Jim, without his Westwood jacket, curled into a ball, his knees up, hands fisted in his hair as he sobbed as softly as possible. He rocked back and forth a little, would stop, and softly bang his side against the wall three times.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He didn’t say anything, simply sobbed, took shuddering breaths, rocked in place. His hands were clenched so tightly in his hair that his scalp might have been bleeding, though the blood wouldn’t be red. Of course there was no red, certainly no blue, not a trace of purple and surprisingly no yellow.

Jim crossed the room silently, face blank leaving his office and being sure to lock the door behind him. No color is no fun, what do you think?

 


End file.
